


Holding a Rose

by OneMintJulep



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Canon Era, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Eventual Sex, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Post-Oak Room
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-09-25 07:56:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17117453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneMintJulep/pseuds/OneMintJulep
Summary: Post-Oak RoomBeginning at the Oak Room, this work slowly but surely follow Therese and Carol as they reconfigure and heal their relationship. To be written from both perspectives, over several chapters. Most canon will be drawn from the film, Carol (2015) with some cues from Patricia Highsmith's The Price of Salt.INCOMPLETE, more to come.





	1. I Ain't Got Nobody

**Author's Note:**

> I'm absolutely in love with every one of the Post-Oak Room fics, and I've been so inspired that I thought I'd try my hand at my own. I'm new to writing fanfiction/AO3, so any critique or advice is more than welcome. Happy Carol Season! ~Julep

 

 

April 17th, 1953

During that dinner in the Oak Room, Carol felt as though that night would be something like a case of secondary drowning. She’d certainly swallowed a lot of water, metaphorically speaking. Her meeting with Therese could _modestly_ be defined like that, perhaps. That time at the Ritz alone was enough to constitute as a full drowning. And though was she functioning now, in the Oak Room, smiling with her colleagues and chuckling at their dry jokes, the water in her lungs would surely smother her when she found herself alone. She’d choke tonight, perhaps even die. Likely not, but it didn’t feel impossible. She’d spent much of the evening replaying those images of Therese like a terrible, beautiful film. Her angelic face unchanging as she answered ‘No, I don’t think so.’ Was there even hesitation in those clear eyes?

But, oh, she looked _so beautiful._ And different, in the best and most tragic way. Carol couldn’t keep herself from staring as she tried to make conversation. Floundering more like; struggling. Thanking her, complimenting her, and being immediately shot down. There was hostility in her dearest, Therese; the way she seemed to throw her answers at Carol. They stung like holding a rose, dazzling, thorns and all. Did she resent Carol? Could Carol blame Therese if she did? Therese said she did not. Still, Carol felt crippled by something she could not explain. The change in Therese. She did hate Carol though, didn’t she?

There was an honest sincerity in her inquiry about Rindy, Carol was sure. Was it possible that Therese knew what this was all about? Leaving her in Chicago, months of silence?

But the way Therese looked down in that moment, in embarrassment, was it? Carol couldn’t read this new woman in front of her. The air between them was heavy, awkward. The silence they had enjoyed together had never been so sour. Carol looked pathetic, no doubt. There was no script for that meeting, no practiced part she could step into with Therese, not then. And even if there was, Therese did not deserve that. Carol’s voice wavered. And again. Swallowing more water with every breath; with every look Therese gave her, none of them a smile.

Therese looked like a piece of fine art. Perhaps a Hellenistic bust; stone, beautiful, and utterly priceless. A goddess. Aphrodite? Athena? Perhaps. More like Nemesis, the way this tea was going. Was this what Carol deserved?

“Well… that’s that.” Don’t cry. Carol was livid with herself for her lack of control; Therese was here, and there was nothing now. Their time was coming to a close, Carol could feel, with none of the conclusions Carol was utterly _desperate_ for. Defeat. She was losing all.

_Say something more_. Was her thought for herself? Or was it for Therese?

“I love you” was all Carol could muster, and even then, it was pleading. Those three words would never contain what she felt for Therese, what their time apart had done to Carol, and what time together in the future could mean, would mean. Carol would give Therese the world and more. She’d sing into Therese’s mouth all the things she felt, and show her with love, again and again. But she had said just those words, almost blurting them out, hoping that they might _begin_ to tell Therese all of that. It was very much a last resort, but Carol prayed Therese saw that it was with the best, and admittedly most _hopeless_ intentions. Regardless, Carol had given up. She couldn’t resist that first touch in months, and the last she’d ever have; a hand on Therese’s shoulder before leaving her with the young man who’d given her an escape. Therese was now too much to bear, and besides, it was all over. It needn’t matter what would’ve come after she said ‘I love you’; it wasn’t to be pleasant, if the rest of the brief meeting was any indication.

In her car, she sat in silence, now too numb to cry. It was strange. She felt dead. Carol had lost it all, hadn’t she? Rindy, Therese. A whole lot of pride, certainly. And yet, she couldn’t shed a tear. She had cried herself dry for months. Carol was a desert, totally arid and desolate. Maybe she had _finally_ lost her mind. That would be preferable to the torment of heartbreak, wouldn’t it? Like she was sleep-walking, she looked at herself in her rear-view mirror for a long while. She could see the misery in her own eyes. She looked old. The reflection certainly didn’t look like Carol, but it looked like someone she knew.

She had planned earlier, had hoped, that Therese would take up at least one of Carol’s offers and spend the time between tea and dinner with her. The calls she claimed to be making were a lie, an excuse. It was now just seven; she had had barely fifteen minutes with Therese. Dinner was scheduled for nine. Her very bones felt _tired_ as she drove back to her apartment on Madison, where she sat, sipped rye, and smoked more cigarettes than she cared to count. She stared at nothing in particular for minutes on end, hand on her forehead. Everything was silent except for the distant, constant noises of the city. Upon examination in her vanity mirror before leaving, all looked well, normal even, though she felt anything but. She took a cab to the Oak Room; that way, she could drink more. But, Carol was sure no amount of alcohol could help to deaden what was to come at the end of the night. She’d suffocate, surely. She had swallowed a lot of water after all.

In the Oak Room, they had finished eating and were chatting now, drinks in front of them. Carol had had five now tonight, counting the several ryes before arriving. She felt totally sober. Far too sober. She was itching for any relief, for something harder than her pinot gris sitting to the right of her elbow. These were the times where she was grateful for those years with Harge which had taught her these scripts, carved these masks. Carol could entertain mechanically, and was breezing through the evening, on the outside at least. The others didn’t seem to notice that Carol felt as though her chin was made of lead and all she wanted was to rest it on the table. And cry, if her eyes would let her. She felt as though she may actually sleep tonight, she was so drained. Or perhaps she would not sleep at all. Nodding, she glanced around the room as she had done several times before. Carol had refused to allow herself, very early in the evening, the painful luxury of hoping to look up and see Therese. She wasn’t coming, it was done, if one hadn’t noticed at tea.

And then, there she was, Therese. She was just stood there, seemingly just arrived, staring back. Carol’s stomach dropped as she saw her, attempting to make sure the woman now just feet away was not an apparition. A hallucination. Carol really had lost her mind, hadn’t she? She let her smile grow nonetheless, as Therese’s did the same. It wasn’t until the host approached Therese, hand on upper arm, to speak to her, did Carol truly believe her eyes. All Therese did was nod towards Carol with a couple words. Carol knew she should do something, but she stayed glued to her seat, elbow on the table. She couldn’t care to notice if her dinner-mates took attention to what was happening between her and Therese. The universe had simply torn at its seams. Therese just walked right up, looking directly into Carol’s eyes, coat folded over her arms.

“Sorry, I’m a bit late. I mean…” Therese spoke to Carol, then finally broke her gaze to glance around at the others, with a nervous, but oh, sweet sweet, smile. Good manners, of course.

“It looks like I’ve missed the meal, I think… Mind if I join you, anyways?”

Carol finally stood to welcome her. She felt dumbstruck, stupefied. Had she been electrocuted?

“Of course.” Carol couldn’t help but beam. With a trembling hand – did Therese notice? – she waved to the waiter, who quickly brought another chair. Introductions were made, Therese ordered a small glass of sherry, and they all continued their discussion.

The rest of the chatter in the Oak Room sounded like thunder as Carol made conversation, stealing as many glances at Therese as she could bear. It appeared as though Therese was doing the same, or at least Carol had hoped. Carol longed for two things in those moments. The first was to be alone with Therese. There were a thousand questions, all surrounding why Therese had come back. And Carol wanted to plead, to apologize. Therese was here; this was not a gift Carol would let slip away now. The second want was to simply embrace Therese, and inhale deeply. Conversation around the table went on and on and on until a watch was checked and it was unanimously decided that it was getting late and time to get going home.

After farewells in the lobby, Carol and Therese were finally alone. Was that buzzing in her ear real? Carol had an odd feeling she was hearing her own anticipation, her own nerves. Maybe it was all the rye and wine.

“Well…” Carol said, turning to Therese. Oh, she looked so fine. Ravishing. Therese looked up into her eyes and Carol felt herself hold her breath. She gripped her handbag tighter as to keep her hands from shaking. For the first time since she left the Ritz, she felt as though she could _really_ cry. She also felt as though she could vomit. She willed herself to look Therese directly in the eye, unbreaking.

“I want to talk… I want…” Therese spoke with her heavy-breathed voice Carol knew before. It was the same, but so different now.

Carol took a shaky inhale and nodded. The vulnerability, the fear, was surely showing. Carol was totally at Therese’s mercy. She wasn't sure if she should offer ideas, or let Therese make the choices, organically. Carol ultimately chose the latter as she swallowed hard, waiting with her head tilted down. In the silence, Carol instantly recognized an old, old jazz piano tune playing in the lobby. Earl Hines. "I Ain't Got Nobody". Of course. How fitting, how _comical_. Did Therese know this song? Carol still felt nauseous.

"Could we go to my apartment?" Therese said finally, tilting her head when she spoke. It reminded Carol of before, a much younger Therese, nervous, excited. Younger, ha. It’s only been months. How Therese had changed. It all frightened Carol, but drew her in like a magnet, like gravity. “I…” and Therese looked more sure now. “I want to be there. For now.”

Carol simply nodded, smiling openly, trying to settle her shoulders, which had hiked themselves to her ears out of anxiety. She loosened her grip on her bag and felt the blood race back into her fingers. They turned out the door, Therese two paces ahead. Carol tried to watch Therese’s hips as she walked, now hidden under her long coat, her ankles. The brisk night air somehow sobered Carol, even though she had hardly felt drunk. Several red and yellow cabs were lined outside in front, awaiting passengers ending their night, though Carol felt as though hers was only beginning.

Therese stepped to the nearest one, opened the door and her stance, as if to let Carol climb in first. She flashed a dimpled, and closed-mouth smile as Carol passed her, and into the car. Carol was thankful she was now sitting, because her legs felt a little wobbly, like gelatine. Therese rattled off the address, sounding totally unlike her old self. Carol simply stared at her for a long moment, indulging in a look up and down, as she had so many times before. She probably looked like fool, with so many feelings swirling all at once and failing to hide it. A total mess of everything: nerves, excitement, guilt, desire. Unknown. Insecure. Rejoycing. The way the streetlights caught Therese’s hair, her eyes, now glancing out the window. _Oh_ , Was Carol ever a fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Mentioned: I Ain't Got Nobody by Earl Hines (1928)


	2. Francisco Goya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind comments. Happy holidays and enjoy ~Julep

April 17th, 1953

Carol began attempting to plan what she’d say once they got into the apartment. Nothing seemed nearly appropriate, proper to admit, to mend. Perhaps Therese would have questions, she hoped. That would guide the conversation. Therese wanted to talk, so Carol would do that. Whatever it took now. Would there be tears? Carol wasn’t sure if crying would be all that terrible if it was for the right reasons. At the right time. She yearned for a cigarette. Carol was only able to sit still by clinging to, grasping at, the idea that Therese couldn’t possibly hate her; she had come back. 

Therese had  _smiled,_  been smiling. And not just at dinner, where she had to out of civility. But at Carol, for Carol. It had reached her eyes even. The dimples alone were bright enough as a new light in whatever darkness Carol had been deluged in for hours, months. Like Sirius in the night sky, if the star had a twin. No. The moon, two moons. The sun. Hope. Therese was like precious, precious Rindy. Her throat constricted in grief at the thought of the child. But they both reminded Carol what the pain was all for, what it all meant. If she didn’t feel the ache she did for them, then it meant the joy wasn’t real. Highs and lows, she supposed.

Carol would have done anything for Therese, that night or ever. Sitting in that cab, slowly but surely winding Manhattan and making their way to whatever was next, Carol could’ve written Therese the most soul-bearing poetry. Or a three-act drama, tragedy or comedy. William Shakespeare, Lope de Vega, Carol Aird, Anton Chekhov, Sophocles. Carol was no writer, but if she managed to put all of what she felt into words, her name would surely be among the greats. It needn’t always be about love, Carol and Therese. It all seemed beyond something so simple, so redundant, so mundane and juvenile, as  _love_. The two of them were not, never, a common motif.

Love was only a word that scratched the surface of  _them._  Carol would’ve given the most spectacular monologue, joy _and_ pain and all, with Therese as her audience. Only it would not be acting, it would be real, raw. Did romance, did love, mean more when you had to fight for it? 

It had been different with Harge. And Abby. They were fleeting. It was pleasurable, sure, but only. Foolish. And brief, fleeting. Carol had fallen out of love as fast as she fell in. They taught her things though, important things. Therese, _oh_ Therese, was something altogether extraordinary. Terrifying.

Carol only hoped she wouldn’t be as gagged as she had been at tea. Her tongue felt like a down pillow while in the cab, sitting limp and thick in her mouth. 

It seemed like an eternity, only not quite long enough, before the cab came to a stop in front of Therese’s building. Oh, how many times did Carol imagine herself going there in the last four months? Driving or walking; sitting outside, waiting for Therese; ringing up to her apartment, beckoning her down? Or actually going up there, walking in? Carol gulped air hard as she moved quickly to pay the driver, just so that Therese couldn’t first. Then they were on the sidewalk, on the doorstep, and climbing up the first set of stairs. Carol’s breath hitched with every step. She saw the telephone Therese would’ve used, and remembered the calls. And  _those_  calls. And how they eventually stopped. Carol could barely breathe, but so desperately wanted to smell that part of the building. It was musty, earthy, old. Could something smell ‘low’, or ‘dark’? 

And then they were at Therese’s door; Carol was sure she saw Therese’s hands tremble slightly as she moved to unlock it. She must’ve been nervous too, a little strange considering she held the balance of power, the future of  _them_. Perhaps that was why she was shaky. Yes. That was it, wasn’t it? 

Carol felt like a gas in the air, watching and waiting there. Floating everywhere and nowhere, too much and too little all at once, never becoming. Hyper-aware of nothing in particular. The dim light of the hallway gave way to more darkness on Therese’s fair face, angles deepening as the door opened. Carol forced herself to look inside as not to stare. The furniture looked like shadows until Therese flicked on the light and the place took form. They stepped in, Carol after Therese. It was all overwhelming, but yet, still not enough.

Therese took both their coats and led them into the living room. There she stood, like she had in December, hands folded neatly in front of her stomach, watching Carol, both curious and knowing. She looked almost outlandish now, like a dreamt up version of Therese, with her grown-up hair, her sharp blazer, and her young, familiar mannerisms. She stood there, just a little more than a wisp of the woman Carol knew, in the bare bones of that same room from months earlier. A fragment of her Therese, her angel, though somehow a stronger version now. Carol swivelled her head, noting the walls, the furniture, stealing glances at Therese, willing the entire scene to burn into her memory forever. She had redecorated. The walls were now a fashionable, pale blue.  

“The…” Carol’s voice wavered and she cursed herself internally, nausea still a threat. But then again, she figured there was nothing left to lose, and let her words shake. She looked at Therese, trying to blink, her eyes suddenly too dry. “You’ve painted. The colour is nice.” Her statement turned up at the end, sounding totally unsure, almost like a question. Carol wasn’t positive if it was something she should comment on now. It had been months,  _months,_  and that was Carol’s fault; it hardly seemed like the time for small talk. 

“Carol.” Therese was commanding. Carol felt crushed by everything, all at once. She suddenly became acutely mindful of how far she was stood from Therese. Carol was right near the wall shared with the bedroom, her hands hanging by her sides. Anticipating. Therese was almost in the doorway to the kitchen, far too far. “Carol, I’m, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

Carol  _almost_  laughed, but the pure weight of the circumstances prevented her from such. How, what? Her mind couldn’t keep up with itself. It was too much. Much too much. The guilt, the sour,  _sour_  shame, and the liberty, the passion, the happiness in the pit of her stomach, reacting violently with pure and total fear. Exhaustion. Therese, oh.  _Therese._  Carol’s eyes grew wet, and suddenly she couldn’t find a way to get air into her chest. She was not a desert after all. Her lungs themselves felt soaked and full, too full. Secondary drowning. Her body started to softly spasm as she tried to find a breath and some words. Yes, oh yes, she was choking now, crying. Carol blinked her eyes hard and slow, as to banish the tears back into her head, back behind her eyes which refused to take them. They were only sent trailing down her face, unwelcome and burning.  _Oh no._

It was the strangest, most uncomfortable thing. She wasn’t totally sad, she was not only crying out of pain; she was  _there_  after all, with Therese. It was simply too much; Carol had lost control. Dearest Therese stood there, ethereal, looking alarmed, sad and, what, disgusted? No. If Carol was to take a guess, she’d have said Therese’s face was painted with a mix of sorrow and confusion; as if Carol was now the most tragic perplexity.

 

***

 

There was something all  _wrong_  with what Therese was seeing. Carol there, having always been someone, something, too grande for her modest, dingy apartment. Crying, looking  _almost_  ugly, looking bare. Carol wasn’t supposed to cry. It was not Carol, Therese’s Carol. Carol misunderstood, didn’t she? _Oh, Carol._

It reminded her somehow of Francisco Goya’s paintings Therese had read about, seen copies of. What a strange thing to think in a time like this, she figured. Obscure. Pictures of the Spanish Bourbons, of war, of life, eighteenth and nineteenth century. Of the gruesome, dark takes on misery, gore, and loss, after Goya had gone deaf and seemingly mad. Poorly lit, like the apartment. All of it, them, this; there something not right, disturbed, those paintings and now. Carol’s gasps, her tears, were erroneous, profane, inverse, malign, amiss, unjust. Therese could’ve filled a book trying to describe how much she didn’t like it: Carol crying, choking in her tweed blazer, her golden hair glistening now, even in the harsh, dim, yellowed light of the apartment; grey-blue eyes that had been the  _ocean_  were swollen, pouring, emptying. It was a distorted sight, an excess or lack of something unidentifiable.

Even then, in all of this, Therese thought Carol still looked like some sort of right-hand attendant of God Himself, unearthly, heavenly. If there was a God, Carol was surely a fallen, lost angel, broken. Was that blasphemous? Therese wondered for a second if it would all look so terrible, so tragic and still so radiant if she were to take a photo of Carol, at that moment. This was not how Therese wanted it all to go. Carol was so vulnerable, now beyond fragile. If only Therese had known.

That had been why she came back, having left Phil's party. She now knew. The party was over anyway. She nearly felt out of place.

Therese had not been a past-time to Carol, a plaything, an escape, a teething toy for a baby, one that numbed the pain. She never had been. And she did not leave Therese lightly, willingly. It was not abandonment, careless. Carol had wanted to liberate her, free her from a love that was _dangerous_. It made sense. Now. It hadn’t before. Because she was young? Perhaps. She wanted an excuse like that. But her pain wasn't invalid because of her age.

When Therese spoke to Genevieve, it was clear, all so clear. Genevieve was attractive, in an offbeat, untraditional way, no doubt. It would've been so,  _so_  easy to have taken her despite Therese’s only partial interest. Some fun for a while. Genevieve was clearly interested, flirting. That thought, that idea, felt like some betrayal, but Therese had refused to admit to herself just who, what, she was turning her back on. The party and that woman became a reverse-serving metaphor for Therese that night. Therese was not to Carol what Genevieve was to Therese. Clearly. Therese sat in the bathroom, smoking a cigarette, knowing it, feeling it. Carol loved Therese. She said it, with her voice and her eyes. And her actions. In the past and at the Ritz.

And Carol loved Rindy. Those months of anger that had followed the deadening, crippling, _crushing_ heartbreak were misplaced. She was still angry when she saw Carol at the Ritz for tea; half of Therese only went to spite Carol, and the other out of curiosity to see what she could _possibly_ want now. Still so beautiful, her Carol. No, not _hers_ , she had to remind herself the moment after she thought that. Oh, but the entire truth was much bigger than that, wasn’t it? Carol’s life. And Therese’s place in it. They would never be over; Therese was a _fool_ to have thought that, that she’d move on. Be new, be happy. So she left Genevieve there, who she did not want. Carol loved Therese and Therese loved Carol. _Oh, she did._ It would always be Carol. And the instant Therese saw her in the Oak Room, she knew it was not a mistake. 

In her apartment, she wanted to do something, say something. She had gone back to Carol, after all. She had just played along at the Oak Room, felt Carol’s eyes on her in the cab, and now. Her stomach mingled her nerves with guilt as she imagined what Carol must’ve thought earlier, even now. But her subconscious had built a tall, tall wall, and Therese was still climbing over it. Carol wove her hands together, gathered her shoulders, voice, and seemingly her wits, and began:

“How could you be sorry, Therese?” her voice cracked and wavered, deep, but at least she seemed to be breathing now. She said Therese’s name with that weight, as she had before a thousand times, heavy, charged, full of something more. Soul?  _Oh, Carol._  Therese could’ve melted like butter in a pan. Longing. And horror. “You… You’ve got no blame in this. You cannot…” a breathy exhale, “I am the one who must apologize.” Her last sentence was dark, loathing, regretful. Therese could tell Carol hated herself, by her tone and the sulkiness in her body. She had never seen Carol stand with her back rounded like that before. Exhausted. Her own heart shattered at the thought, at the sight. Therese exhaled and only then realized she had been holding her breath since Carol began to cry. Then she took gulping, deep breaths to catch her voice.

“No, Carol, I’m sorry. All of this, that it happened. I’m sorry you went through...” Did she even know what Carol had gone through? Therese’s heart was beating like a bass-drum in her temples and against her ribs. “I’m sorry that I ever… That I blamed you.” Oh, she wanted to take Carol in her arms then, but she was rooted to her spot near the kitchen. Therese was shocked she hadn’t began to weep too. She felt as though she could’ve, emotion boiling up into her ears, nearly reaching her face. Carol stood there, chest rising and falling slowly, just looking with wet eyes, processing, and slightly shaking her head. Carol’s eye makeup was somehow holding up, her rouge lips curled out in anguish.

“I should’ve told you to wait. I thought it was the best… For both of…” Carol was stammering, her husky voice barely a croak, trying to explain. Therese finally found control of her legs and slowly walked to Carol. “ _Rindy_ … Harge, he wanted me and… I didn’t know what else…” 

Carol’s tears kept coming as she choked on her words and her emotion, failing to string sentences together, her hands fidgeting with each other desperately. Carol looked frustrated, devastated, everything. It wrenched at Therese, like someone was painfully plucking at her voice box. Or maybe her heart strings. She had reached Carol now; there were inches between them, and _oh_. She could smell Carol, rich velvet perfume, cigarettes.

 “Therese, forgive me, I beg… I…”

Therese reached out both of her hands and placed them on Carol’s, whose were still fidgeting. Her skin _sang_ where it met Carol’s _,_ it almost screamed, as in Edith Piaf, ‘Hymne à l’amour’, or perhaps some Bessie Smith or Louis Armstrong’s trumpet, a violin on a Nat King Cole record. Carol’s hands finally stilled. They hadn’t broken eye contact.

“Carol… It’s okay…” She pulled Carol’s hands up and placed them flat on the middle of her own chest, Therese’s hands pressing them down. This touch was not a trumpet; this was a gospel song, tens of voices. Therese’s heart was pounding violently, and no doubt Carol could feel it. Carol tilted her head ever so slightly, narrow eyes narrowing even more, lovely lips quivering. She looked as though she couldn’t believe it all as she took a shaking inhale and searched Therese’s eyes. At one time, Therese would’ve squirmed under Carol’s gaze, but now she did not. Could not. Their faces were inches, _inches_ apart.

“I love you.” Carol had said it, but it seemed like they both had it on their tongues. It was not a plead, but a statement. Carol looked so _tired._ The irises of her eyes were a violent blue now, like ice in sunlight, contrasted with how red the rest of them were from crying. Therese still wanted to say more, so much more, but it looked like Carol may just crack. Break. Physically, even.

“I love you. Carol…” Therese settled on that. It seemed to be what Carol needed now, so downcast and hopeful. Therese had seen so many sides of Carol. She had seen Carol’s rage, gun in hand. She had seen her laugh. Seen her make love. She had seen Carol talk to strangers. Rindy. Harge. The only time Therese could remember her ever looking anywhere _close_ to this was the look she gave Therese as she took her in her arms, that last night at the Drake before she left. Therese felt crushed. Therese needed this, oh. But Carol appeared to need it more. When was the last time Carol slept? Or smiled, really smiled? In the Oak Room, it looked like, when she saw Therese. 

Therese could no longer help herself. She leaned in and up, and kissed Carol on the lips. Once. Twice. Again. Carol tasted a little like pinot gris, but mostly like Carol. Their kisses grew, tender and desperate, together. No rush. Their hands left Therese’s chest and found new homes. One of Carol’s hands wove into Therese’s hair, the other on her waist. Therese tucked both of hers under and behind Carol’s jaw, fingers grazing her ears, to draw her closer. The connection in their lips was electric. Voltaic. It all imploded and exploded, like an atomic bomb. Again and again. They searched and found simultaneously.

Then they stopped and simply embraced, close and tight without pain. Carol clung to Therese and inhaled deeply, again and again.  Therese allowed herself to become drunk on Carol, her smell, _this feeling._ It was infinitely sweeter than the sherry at the Oak Room. They stood for minutes, swaying naturally, re-acquainting themselves with the feel of each other, somehow healing a little. Carol had lost weight. Carol’s breath was into Therese’s shoulder, steady now. It was a strange incongruity, in hindsight, the two of them and the beauty they possessed in their togetherness, all while there in Therese’s apartment. She thought they should be somewhere as lovely as what was in her heart. Somewhere in the Orient, or Cairo, surrounded by rich smells of spices and everything covered in gold; Carol’s house, her things, the glossy piano, except without the large, empty, dismal feeling of that place; the Metropolitan Museum or the Louvre, art all around; a white sand beach outside Havana, with the sound of the sea; Vatican City or Jerusalem or Mecca or Varanasi or Lumbini or somewhere as holy as their love felt. But her apartment was like that hotel room in Waterloo on New Year’s, its tacky mirror, apple green walls. Perhaps they were destined for the shabby. Always the private. Either way, there they were together. There and then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Mentioned:  
> Hymne à l’amour by Edith Piaf (1950)
> 
> Individuals Mentioned:  
> William Shakespeare (1564-1616)  
> Lope de Vega (1562-1635)  
> Anton Chekhov (1860-1904)  
> Sophocles (died 406 BC)  
> Francisco Goya (1746-1828)  
> Edith Piaf (1915-1963)  
> Bessie Smith (1894-1937)  
> Louis Armstrong (1901-1971)  
> Nat King Cole (1919-1965)
> 
> Places Mentioned:  
> Cairo, Egypt  
> Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, New York, USA  
> Louvre Museum, Paris, France  
> Havana, Cuba  
> Vatican City (Rome, Italy)  
> Jerusalem, Israel (Jordan, Palestine)  
> Mecca, Saudi Arabia  
> Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India  
> Lumbini, Nepal


	3. Lee Lawrie's Atlas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again. More to come very, very soon, I promise. xx ~Julep

April 17th, 1953

When they pried themselves apart, one look at Carol told Therese it was time to go to bed. Carol looked so content. _Oh,_ the chiselled features of her face. But she was clearly, totally drained. And how did her hair, her skin, continue to gleam? Glow? How were the bags under Carol’s eyes still breathtaking? The minuscule wrinkles on the outside of either eye _so_ fine and lovely?

“Here,” Therese whispered, turned and led Carol by the hand, out and around the corner into the bedroom, turning on the light as they went.

Stopped once inside, and looking, Therese simply couldn’t stop herself from running two fingers across Carol’s lips. Therese imagined if one could touch a stormy cloud, it might compare to how soft they felt. Carol grabbed her wrist to still Therese’s hand, turned it open and kissed her palm.

Then Therese began to undress Carol, slowly, with as much tenderness as she could muster. It was as though Carol was a delicate artifact. A powerful but temperamental bomb. Only Therese did not fear Carol at all, not like she did bombs. They’d skip the routines tonight, no makeup removal, no cold cream, no hairbrush. There was no energy left for that. It took place in total silence aside from the natural sounds of their lungs, hearts, and moving fabric. First Carol’s hat, still pinned to her head like a crown. Then her blazer. Shirt, skirt, stockings. Every item was removed and folded, set in a neat pile beside their feet. Carol’s eyes were enough to make Therese break herself. Beautiful. Still slightly tearful. Watching Therese, thanking her, but occupied, half absent. Was Carol thinking of something? Or nothing at all? Was it possible it was both? Carol was a mystery, and Therese wasn't sure she could be solved. She'd die trying.

She kept going until Carol stood in nothing but her bra and panties. Therese had to remind herself to breath when she saw Carol’s body like this. Oh. Spectacular. Tragic. All of that skin. Woman. A cascade of pleasant weakness swept Therese.

Carol had always been thin, though lean. But there were ribs now that Therese couldn’t recall having seen before; hip bones a little bit more prominent. Carol’s stomach, alive with magnificent lightning marks from Rindy at its bottom, hugged itself even closer to her core than Therese ever remembered. Therese had studied Carol’s body those too few times, months earlier; she had not forgotten. Never would. She was still so beautiful, _oh,_ but Carol’s misery showed in how her body had changed. How did Therese blame her for all of it? And for so long? She bit the inside of her cheek at the thought. Imagining Carol, drinking and smoking, baneful tears like those in the living room. Not eating for days. Perhaps always in bed, but never sleeping.

With a kiss to Carol’s shoulder, Therese stepped very close and wrapped her arms around and undid Carol’s bra, pulling it off as gently as she could. Therese allowed herself one greedy look, hypnotized down, and then up, back into her eyes which were more present now. A slight, warm, and exhausted smile pulled at Carol’s lips. Therese kissed them, and again. Carol took her hand when Therese stepped away one pace, as though to keep her close. But the bedroom was small and Therese was close enough to her chest of drawers. She didn’t need to move further. She opened the top drawer and took out two slips. She had gotten them both only last week. They one she had chosen for Carol was luxurious cotton, powder blue; perhaps something Carol herself would own. Perfect for sleeping. She wasn’t sure if it would fit Carol; she was taller than Therese, with more generous curves. She put it over Carol’s head anyways, both of them pulling it down over her body. It did fit, only a little short. A little tight at the width of her hips. Carol took off her own underwear now. It made Therese feel something grumble deep in her torso. She also assumed that Carol has been in them all day.

Therese stepped around her, one hand in both of Carol’s, as she pulled the blankets back on her twin bed. Then, she pulled Carol towards it, gently, beckoning her to lie down. Carol did. Laying on her side, one bent knee propping her up, hand under one cheek on the pillow, the other down beside her chest on the mattress. Therese pulled the thin quilts and sheets up to Carol’s neck. Sealing her, protecting her. Carol did not resist, not at all; she just obeyed Therese as if this was what Carol wanted most. Resting her head, warm. In Therese’s bed. Wearing her slip. Oh, Carol. Looking most delicate, beautiful, broken. Almost childlike, but not really. Content eyes still pink. High, splendid cheeks, tear-stained. Therese made a silent vow to heal her. She kissed Carol on the forehead, then on the lips, hand in her hair, before Therese stepped back.

Carol’s eyes never left Therese’s, lying in the bed. She was all blue, all tired. Therese undressed herself quicker than she had Carol. A second, identical pile of Therese’s clothes formed beside the other. Then, Therese was just in her underwear, as Carol had been. She was thankful she had put on a newer pair that morning, lacy ones she had gotten with her first New York Times paycheck. Did Carol like them? She suddenly felt a little shy. She had broken eye contact but could still feel Carol’s gaze on her. She took them off and hastily put on her own slip. Rose coloured, cheapish silk. Therese flicked off the light and returned to the bed. Lifting the blankets as little as possible as to keep Carol warm, she climbed in with her. The curtains on the window were still open. There was enough light from the city’s night to see her. Carol’s eyes looked like milk then. Thick, sweet, cream, swimming and colourless. Looking into Therese’s. Past her face, seeing Therese.

There was a grand oven in Therese’s stomach, something like one that would be at Bethlehem Steel, filling her up with perfect heat. It seemed to Carol’s face that something wonderful had happened. It had, hadn’t it? But Carol's eyelids were heavy with sleep. It all felt fuzzy to Therese, like when one was listening to an LP record and the needle was in-between songs. Toasty in the best ways, inside and out. Looking at Carol in her twin bed, so tiny that they had no choice but to be close. Nothing open to the bedroom air but her glorious face above her chin. Carol’s perfume filled the sheets and Therese. All was well. So well.

There was so much more they both wanted, needed. With time, surely. So much more to talk about, oh yes. But Therese knew that could all wait. It would have to. Carol was glass tonight. Exhausted. Walking on eggshells; had already broken once before. Therese opened her arms out and wiggled up and around Carol. Blonde hair tickled her nose as Carol went to her, head against Therese’s chest. She felt Carol’s hands find her body and imagined what they must have looked like under the covers. Fine, long fingers, with manicured nails clung faintly to the softness around Therese’s hips beneath the slip. No ring on her left hand. It wasn’t there all night, Therese had noted. Cashmere flesh of Carol’s arms brushing Therese’s sides and stomach. She delicately slipped a knee between both of Carol’s. Carol's leg wound itself at Therese's ankle. Close and as woven as they could be.

“ _Ma mie._ ” Carol muttered, as heavy as a sigh. “You’re beautiful, Therese.”

Therese hummed her reply, “You’re too wonderful.” So much skin was touching. She kissed the top of Carol’s head and shamelessly inhaled the smell of her hair. She must’ve been using the same products as before since it smelled exactly the same. It was enough to make Therese dizzy.

It didn’t take Carol more than a few minutes to fall asleep. Therese could tell by her breathing. Her eyelashes had been brushing her chest like feathers every time Carol blinked but it had stopped quickly. It was as if Carol hadn’t slept in months. Carol hadn’t, had she? Therese sighed, so comfortable.

Therese had a harder time turning off her mind. She had been in the same bed this morning. Had been at work that day, too. The Ritz. Phil's. Carol's note, Genevieve. It was all a lifetime ago.

What would come in the hours after they woke? The next days? It would be Saturday when the sun rose. Therese hadn’t had a greater plan, not really, when she went to the Oak Room. Her first and only intention was to find Carol. She felt desperate on the street after Phil’s party. Oh, she prayed in that cab that Carol would still be with friends at the restaurant. If she had missed her, Therese would go back to her own apartment. There she knew she had Abby’s phone number.

It was written on a folded piece of paper, in a funny, messy attempt at cursive. As _if_ numbers could be cursive. ‘Abby Gerhard’ was slightly neater though; clearly, she had practice writing her own name. Therese even disliked the woman’s handwriting. Abby had tucked it into her hand while in Carol’s car, right in front of Therese’s apartment building. They were done driving from Chicago to New York and Therese felt thoroughly dead. Abby had told her to call with a smile, one Therese could tell was not Abby’s real one. There was an intense pity in Abby’s eyes that made Therese even more resentful. She had no place in it all, in Therese's trip with Carol, its intimacy and how it had all exploded. Therese had loathed Abby for her invasion and her opinion. She never did call Abby, but she had thought about it. Perhaps she had answers, updates. Help. Those late nights when Carol would answer the phone after a hundred rings and say nothing. When Therese was soaked in thick desperation and despair as though it were tar. Therese had tucked that piece of paper away with the photos of Carol and their trip, crumpled with intentional vulgarity on the bottom of Therese’s old chestnut bookshelf. Forgotten, until Carol brought herself back into Therese’s sphere.

If Carol was not at the Oak Room, Therese would call Abby. If Abby had half the sense and heart Therese thought she might, she would tell her Carol’s new address on Madison Avenue. Then, Therese would go out and find Carol. Therese knew she should make an effort with Abby. Carol loved Abby deeply; Therese’s could not go on hating her. She shouldn’t hate Abby, really. For the same exact reasons why Therese was working to forgive Carol. Abby was only helping, doing what was best. But, that would be for another day.

Therese had wanted to come back to her own apartment though, ideally. That way, she’d be able to preserve some self-control, unlike in December. In her own space. To not be selfish. To not be overwhelmed, surrounded by all things Carol. To talk, apologize. That had been why she took Carol here.

And then? Now that Carol was here, in her bed, in her arms?

Did she want to move on _with_ Carol, not _from_ Carol? Yes, no shred of doubt. Move in with her? Could she, really?

Therese had found independence. Herself. Someone’s love or the denial of it meant little to her. It was a luxury, not a necessity. At least that was what she told herself before tonight. Back when hating Carol and reducing her to something secondary was probably just numbing the reality of her absence. She wasn’t so sure now, her head spinning at the smell of Carol’s hair.

Therese loved Carol, oh she felt it in her core. It was like Carol cured her of some disease, one she didn’t know she had. And then she felt how it was to live. But there was still so much hurting. Therese spent months breaking, and then some more finding the pieces and putting them back together. She couldn’t do it again. And from what little Carol had told her at the Ritz and the broken words between sobs in the living room, Carol’s life was still bustling and resolving. Harge. Rindy. Oh, sweet Rindy, Carol’s gem. 

Therese and Carol's love would remain private. Always. It just had to. But Therese did not know the danger that still existed, did she? What it meant, would mean? For Carol? Herself? Oh, Therese wanted to. To know the danger and keep going anyways. She’d carry the earth all on her back for Carol, for them. Like Lee Lawrie’s _Atlas_ at the Rockefeller Center, the bronze Titan carrying a globe. But Therese also wanted to be sure she could still be herself. The young woman she had learned to like. And to be sure that Carol’s world didn’t crumble. Again. Especially if... No.  _When_  Therese became a part of it.

She had decided. She’d want Carol differently this time. Properly, in control. A partner, an equal. Not some child, strung along; only infatuated, being selfish. She’d allow herself to be in love, with total abandon. In privacy, regrettably. No, she’d never dull her heart. But she'd be careful, for sake of the love itself. She intended to be grown up with Carol, if she also intended to grow old with her. That was what Carol wanted, didn’t she? If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have asked Therese to move in. They’d sort out the apartment situation. Therese hadn’t settled on that part yet.

They would work through things. Emotionally, mentally. Physically; Therese swallowed hard as her imagination ran wild. It was April. Spring. A time for new things and new life.

She allowed the feeling of Carol pressed into her chest to take over. It was all enough to cry, finally having Carol there. Together. Therese fell asleep imagining herself making breakfast for both of them in some glamourous but practical kitchen, like something out of Good Housekeeping Magazine. Something worthy of Carol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma Mie, a French term of affection, translates loosely to 'my beloved,' or 'my heart.'
> 
> Mentioned:  
> Bethlehem Steel Corporation, founded 1904, defunct 2003  
> Atlas (1937), Bronze Statue by Lee Lawrie, Rockefeller Center, New York, New York, USA  
> Good Housekeeping Magazine (1885-)


	4. Howard Hughes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you all are anything like me, you've been waiting for this one. Many thanks. xx ~Julep

April 18th, 1953 

Carol woke the next morning after the best night’s sleep she’d had in ages. Months. She knew exactly where she was, without thinking. Her heart fluttered as soon as she was conscious. The blankets, different, thinner. Mattress, smaller. She could feel the springs in her back wanting to push her towards the single indent in the middle. And a warm body beside her. Around her. Therese.

They had shifted slightly in slumber; since Carol fell asleep in a cocoon. One of Therese’s arms was extended beneath the pillow, exactly under where Carol’s head lay. Their legs were entwined with a mess of blankets, tying them in a knot. They were facing one another. Sharing the pillow. Carol opened her eyes to see Therese. Stunning. Dazzling. Too divine. Mortal? It could stand for debate. And much, much more than Carol deserved. Therese was a muse.

Therese’s eyes were still closed, delicately. The sun was barely on the horizon. It cast the sky and the bedroom a faint pink. There was an odd silence; it was as though all of New York was holding its breath with Carol. Looking at Therese in silence. The belly of the city fluttering like her own. Crossing its fingers for _them_.

Nonsense. The world had spent enough energy keeping them apart. Now they were here. Defying the universe. Was it God or Man that had kept them apart? Brought them together? What was this conflict? And resolution? Carol had not believed in fate. But, here with Therese, finally? In her bed? How could she not? Everything comes full circle. Soon, New York would be bustling, busy on a Saturday. As it was every single day. And what would Therese and Carol be doing?

Therese had come back. But truly, nothing else had been resolved. Carol felt a twinge of embarrassment remembering her tears in the living room. Of course. She lost control when it was all so important that she did not. Dearest Therese was so kind and spectacular. She stepped in and put an end to the useless misery. Carol didn’t get a fraction out, not one bit of the whole of what needed to be said. And the other situations? If Therese heard Carol? Really heard her? Then what? Would she live with Carol? Be together? Therese of December would have said yes. Like all those other invitations, ‘Yes, I would,’ her bright eyes making Carol’s soul somersault.

But this was Therese of April. Carol wasn’t sure she knew this one quite so well. She had already turned Carol down before. Everything she had predicted was incorrect. Tea was no indication; Therese came to dinner. And a woman who kissed Carol as she put her own slip on Carol’s body could not also harbour hatred. Not like the kind that would keep them apart. But there was so much more. Practical things. Working at the New York Times? That was something of a rumour from Abby, who had spoken to Therese just as much as Carol had. Which was not at all, actually. It was something Abby had said to lighten Carol’s mood. It was a guess. Carol had told her Therese mentioned she was thinking of getting a job there after their trip. Therese had a friend with a friend with a connection.

 It was just three weeks after Chicago. January. Abby and Carol were on the phone, talking when they weren’t supposed to. Abby asked about Therese. What was happening, to check in. It was a rush after that. Carol gushed like a broken fountain, about Therese. Tears running down her face, as she told Abby so much. All that was on her mind; all that she had learned. The way Therese took her coffee. Her liquor, her eggs. Her favourite colour. Her aspirations. Photography. And how Therese had been calling. Late at night. Sometimes calling Carol’s name, sometimes totally silent. Abby was on the other end, just listening. And she’d always ask Carol whenever she saw her. And reassure her, comfort her. But Carol hardly got to see Abby, to talk to her. Not until Carol took back control, shred by shred. And by that time, Therese was only a memory. But certainly not forgotten.

Abby will be glad to hear where Carol had just spent the night. She truly wanted Carol to be happy. And Therese, too.

Carol could now only confirm the job because a friend at the Oak Room had asked what Therese did with all her time. Not being married, all on her own. Carol felt _so_ proud. She smiled into Therese’s sleeping face at the thought, looking at the tip of her nose. Therese, working at the newspaper, doing something she liked. Something she was talented for. But it was all a reminder of how little they knew of each other now. Therese didn’t know much of anything to do with Carol’s months apart, and vice versa. They’d need to catch up.

 But fall back in love? Carol figured they had never really fallen out of it. Did they? Carol definitely knew the answer for herself. They had properly exchanged ‘I love you’s the night before. The first time ever. Carol closed her eyes for a moment at the thought. _Oh, dearest._

But could Therese and Carol be domesticated? They had formed themselves together in Carol’s car, hotels, restaurants. Mobile, moving place to place. Frankenberg’s. The roof of Therese’s building. Carol’s house in Ridgewood. That house Carol hated. That house, everything Therese was not. _Them_ would mean waking up with Therese every morning, like now. Cooking and eating together, talking about everything, no matter how mundane. All in one place. This Therese was so sure. Perhaps they could even share clothes. They would share their lives. The image made Carol smoulder all through her body. It would be different than how they had been before. Fear festered in Carol once more. If Therese said yes. When? Today or tomorrow or in months or years? Ever? She didn’t dare want to pressure Therese or rush her. Oh, Carol wanted this badly, but she was determined to ensure it was Therese who wanted it too. And that Therese did not simply do it to please Carol. That was something Therese of December would do.

Would she like the apartment Carol had rented? And what about Rindy? How would Therese take to her? Feel about her? They’d only met once. But their lives would inevitably merge. Harge could not stop Carol from loving Therese. And eventually, he’d give in on custody, at least a hair. Proper visitation, or more. He was not _evil_ to his core, just deeply jealous and lost. Lost, like everyone. Flawed, terrible, but not absolutely heartless. And then what? With Therese and Rindy?

There was so much. It felt as though Carol’s brain would melt and spill from her ears trying to think through it all. Feel through it all. Would Carol ever forgive _herself_ for what she had done? Forget? Conquer this bitter shame? Was their love of before tainted by how it had ended? Would they need to start over? It didn’t seem like it. They were here now. Therese did not send Carol home. They shared the bed. Ambrosial kisses. Embraces, air. There would need to be many conversations. And much healing.  

Therese stirred and Carol’s spine went rigid in anticipation. Therese’s arm shifted beneath Carol’s head and she snuggled closer. Then all at once, as though Carol’s presence was suddenly known, Therese opened her eyes; sleep hung within them, but she was awake. A little smile. Carol felt a similar one on her own face. The arm under the pillow wiggled further it so that her hand was free on the other side. Then, Therese bent her wrist and her fingers found Carol’s hair. They played mindlessly with it as she looked at Carol and Carol looked back. Therese’s waking eyes in the low light were like wide orbs of unpolished jade. Carol could see her own reflection in them.

“You look better.” Therese muttered through her smiling teeth. Her voice was delightfully hoarse. Teasing. It was relieving, hearing Therese joke. It meant good things. She was confident to nearly flirt over Carol’s break-down, her exhaustion. It meant Carol hadn’t completely scared Therese away. Hadn’t made her uncomfortable. Or that Carol was out of place. Not emotionally or physically. Not then or now. Even though it was aimed at an insecurity, it soothed it. Carol replied with a throaty chuckle.

Then Carol felt oddly still. Unsure how to proceed. A delicious, familiar tension hung above the bed. She knew what she wanted, she did. To hold Therese. Kiss her. Touch her. Really touch, and be touched herself. But would Carol be turned away if she tried? It was so tender last night. But there was little indication from Therese just how far, how much she was ready for. It was almost innocent. Carol did not enjoy this feeling of standing on the edge, wondering whether she should jump and risk it all. It had happened countless times. The next step within sight but Carol too afraid. Carol had been in love with Therese long before they made love. And she knew Therese felt similarly; she had been terrible at hiding it, to Carol’s delight.

Having Therese smell the perfume on her neck. Carol could have easily kissed her, quickly, when their lips were an inch apart. And it would have been over; the game of cat and mouse they’d been playing since the first time Therese visited Ridgewood. All the countless looks they had shared. Kisses given with the eyes. Looks that could’ve meant more, as in real kisses to come later. Like in the mirror in Waterloo, Guy Lombardo's rendition of "Auld Lang Syne" egging her forward. To bare herself to Therese. Finally, she did. Since January, Carol had deeply regretted not initiating it all earlier. She hadn’t wanted to pressure Therese, but _oh_ how she wished they’d had more time. Together. But there was no way for Carol to have known. But like she had written in that letter to Therese before she left Chicago, perhaps the end was better that way: sooner rather than later. The whole entire thing took place in just a few weeks though, really.

And now, in Therese’s bed. They had all the time, and still, Carol felt apprehensive. They were touching already. Wrapped together. But what was Carol to do next? She wished this Therese would initiate. Therese was looking at her now. Deeper. Mamihlapinatapai.* The reddening-pink horizon mixed with the blue of the walls. It made their skin almost look pale purple. Wasn’t lavender the flower of serenity? Carol felt both calm and chaos in herself.

Then, as if she could read Carol’s hesitation – ha, she probably could – Therese leaned forward and kissed her. It was slow and continuous. Within moments it got deeper, lips harder, tongues searching. Their bodies began to shift around their lips. Therese freed her arm and her fingers from Carol’s hair. With one elbow, she proper her head up. Their legs untangled from the blankets but not from each other. Touches got needier. Carol warmer, in the best way. She couldn’t stop herself now; her fears of denial were long past. She pushed herself into Therese who pushed back. Somehow, in their movements, Carol ended up overtop of Therese. She didn’t particularly remember how it all went; she was a little preoccupied with Therese and her own fervour. Therese’s hips were open with Carol lying between them. The slips were up around their belly buttons. Therese’s hands were meandering, wandering. Carol’s were holding herself up. They broke their kiss when Therese’s pulled Carol’s slip up and off, leaving her naked. Carol nearly growled when she saw the hooded lust in Therese’s eyes. Heavenly. And then it all took over.

Bodies on hands. Hot breath between kisses. Silently crying one another’s names because there wasn’t surplus air in their lungs to make much of a sound. Sometimes there was though; sometimes there were sounds. It was so intense, yet could not possibly have felt rushed. So deeply stirring and _dark_ , yet perfectly sweet and so tender. Pure joy, pleasure, mixed with something else beneath the surface. Guilt, shame? Sorrow? When would that disappear? It was hidden in it all, Carol definitely did not feel it outright. It was as though their love also contained the pain of their months apart. Healing would take time. Touches were out of love. And apology and forgiveness. Liberating and heartbreaking. Therese and Carol. Carol and Therese. They could have _forever_ now. Would they? Yes, they would. Surely, they could. Carol knew.

There were kisses on every place. Hips, hands, hair. Bellies, breasts. Thighs. Eyes. Carol felt herself both collapse and soar when Therese’s eyes burned into her own as Therese lay there, face between Carol’s legs. Then there was nothing she could possibly do to keep her eyes open. As Carol crashed down and down and down, Therese went up. She held Carol close and kissed her eyelids. All Carol could hear was her own breath and a slight ringing in her ears as she pulsed. 

It had all been like magic, Carol thought. Her soul was aglow the entire time; bright, colourful, and violent. Like a charge running through a neon sign. Her body flew high and hard like something Howard Hughes would’ve been proud to own. Mouths and hands and friction. Fingers, curled. Mouths. Giving pleasure and taking it. Their bodies did what words could never. They loved. Made love. Cherished each other; pleased one another. All the blankets ended up crinkled at the foot of the bed; slips were both somewhere on the floor. There was the taste of herself and of Therese on their lips. The smell on their fingers. Carol couldn’t decide for a slight moment whose pleasure felt better; her own or Therese’s. Therese’s, for sure. It was the same, really: Therese’s was Carol’s. Carol touched her, kissed her in every spot and then gave her the consistency necessary to absolutely unravel her. Carol was obsessed with the noises she was able to pull from Therese. The carnal, affectionate look on Therese’s face when it was Carol’s turn told her that Therese felt the same.

It could never be immoral, as Harge had put it. A misconduct, her lawyer had said. A perversion, to her psychotherapist. They were wrong. This was right. There would never be anything more magnificent than making love with the one dearest to you. Surely, everyone and anyone who’d ever loved could understand that. Or perhaps Carol and Therese possessed something special. Nobody could relate, and that was why they thought them to be sick, crazy, illegal.

It was no matter; nobody could see in Therese’s window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mamihlapinatapai  
> (noun): a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something they both desire but neither wants to begin. (Guinness World Record holder for 'most succinct word')
> 
> Mentioned:  
> Guy Lombardo (1902-1977)  
> Auld Lang Syne (Written 1788, Lombardo and his Royal Canadians performed it every New Years from 1939 until his death)  
> Howard Hughes (1905-1976) -A special, little CB reference if you're a big fan.


	5. J.M.W. Turner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks again! Thought I'd let you know that as a student, my life will be / has been very busy in the new year, so updates will be slower! Apologies, and much love xx ~Julep

April 18th, 1953

When it was done, they lay still in each other’s arms, eyes closed. Carol listened to Therese’s breathing slow, with hot and delightfully clammy skin pressed against hers. Minutes after minutes passed and there was nothing. And then there was a slight sniff from Therese. Nasal. A strange one. Carol opened her eyes to see two tears on Therese’s face. One on each cheek, streaking down towards the earth. She lay on her side, so they ran towards the pillow, gravity willing them to fall. Her lovely eyes were open but wet. It was her turn now, wasn’t it? It would probably seem like something one should be concerned about, only Carol was not. This was not alarming at all.

Carol wiped Therese’s eyes at first, but it was only a moment until Carol began to cry as well. She understood. It was beautiful and aching. They clung to each other. Reality hung heavy between them, over them together. Tears signified the pain of the past. The pure bliss of the present. The healing to come, the healing happening. All at once. For the second time in what couldn’t have been more than twelve hours, Carol was humbled by her own emotion. No, for the countless time in months. The room was silent, the only thing that could be heard was cars rushing by in the street outside. New York was awake now, but Carol and Therese still hadn’t left the bed. Carol wouldn’t have traded spots with anyone. Not for the world. A door closed loudly somewhere in the building; sounded like the apartment upstairs.

It was not sad. It was not desperate. It was not tears of only joy, either. All at once. When would it all stop? Overwhelming emotion? When could they be happy? Let the roots grow deep?

The sun shone through the window now, halfway up to the sky. Nearly there, nearly hanging directly above the city. Bouncing off the walls and giving everything a slight blue pale; blessing them. The two of them cried wordlessly, noiselessly in each other’s arms, enmeshed on Therese’s small bed. But it seemed so natural. _So necessary._ They needn’t words. It felt like an eternity before Carol found her strength, found her body and her limbs, and pulled Therese into her, embracing her fully. Wet cheeks pressed against necks, soft breaths into ears, their naked skin finally cooling.

“Therese,” Carol barely whispered, hoarse with emotion and settling ecstasy. She was like a spirit of herself. Weightless, almost. Her breathy word blew the strands of Therese’s hair that hung in front of her lips. Carol felt bruised, somehow. Bruised was the closest word to describe what she felt. Almost a _pleasant_ sort of ache. Like it was healing. The real stab, the pointed pain, was behind her now, in time. The gunshot was only scab. It was all real. She was there with Therese. One.

They were on the same step now. Now. Carol was not exhausted. Nor was she afraid of being turned away. And Therese was not doing anything out of superficial care, or necessity, or embarrassment or defense. Nothing was out of desperation or pity. It was all love now; if one could use the word ‘love’. All out of what it was they had between them. All for each other. They were one. Officially _together_ , if you will. There was nothing else now. Perhaps, in another reality, Carol figured they’d be able to have this moment without the strange, salty tears. But it was all too raw and fresh. They were apart for so long. Broken. _Torn_ apart by brutal and uncontrollable circumstances. Them, spoiled and soured and stripped by so much more, and all undeserving.

And now, here. Here, now. The two of them. And there was no way to control how their bodies were supposed to react to that. Two stages; first, love and now tears. Two releases, inextricably tied, it seemed. Surely, they’d burst open or faint or crumble if they had tried to control it all. Carol knew this of herself. Surely, Therese was feeling it too. It all hardly seemed like something one could feel alone.

“Carol…” was all Therese replied with, somehow managing to pull Carol closer, her palms pressed warm into Carol’s back. Voice so, _so_ soft. Carol would never grow tired of hearing her own name from Therese’s mouth, her melodic voice. Carol. _Carol, Carol, Carol._ Like the meaning of her name, like a song. A tune of happiness, the sweetest. A ring of a bell, a bird chirping, waves lapping? A whole orchestra? No other sound compared, then. She would do anything to hear Therese say it again, for an eternity. Carol was bewitched.

_Oh,_ and in love. Silly, utterly _stupid_ in love. Uncontrollable. Carol wanted herself to calm down, just so that she could think properly. And stop being so terrified. There was always fear in vulnerability; there was always vulnerability in love. It was part of the human condition. But Carol hardly wanted to fall out of this feeling, it was all too gratifying. So thrilling. She was burning alive and enjoying every second of it.

And she wished it could be done without secrets, without sacrifices. Sacrifices made and those to come.

“Carol… I’ve missed you…” Therese all but sang, “I love you.” Therese turned her head and kissed the outer most part of Carol’s ear. Carol took a long, shaky breath in, now sounding like she had been crying. Could one be strangled by happiness? She was overwhelmed, she hardly had words. Her stomach flipped with both joy and relief. She knew Therese loved her, of course. But Carol’s soul nearly broke again just hearing it. Again. 

“I love you, Therese.” Carol pulled back slowly, moving her hands up from behind to place one on the back of Therese’s head and the other around her jaw, and with a second’s glance into those wet, brilliant green eyes and then down to that mouth, Carol drew her into a long kiss. There was no way to explain how it felt to have Therese’s lips pressed against her own. Finally. Oh, a thousand years had passed in a span of months. And a thousand more in these hours. A millennium of history. Of time, and emotion. Excruciating. Pleasure. Wonder. Certainly, a whole lot of luck. Carol hadn’t forgotten how it all felt.

“Oh, how I love you. My angel…” Carol kissed her again, “My darling,” and kissed Therese’s jaw. 

Therese’s hands were moving again; across every inch of skin they could reach with their bodies pressed so close. A soft moan, almost like a purr, left Therese’s mouth when Carol moved to press her mouth to the place where her jaw met her neck. She could feel the noise through Therese’s skin, on her lips. More kisses across collarbones. Breasts. Down. Tears dried themselves as Carol and Therese made love again and the sun finished rising. Another release. 

When it was done - again – Therese forbade Carol from touching her until she made them something to eat. It was funny though; Carol was touching Therese when she said it. Then she got off the bed and out of Carol’s reach, found her slip wherever it had ended up on the floor, and went out of the room. Pretending to be on some very critical mission. Or perhaps it really was a mission. Carol felt almost woozy with joy and having not stood for hours as she got up too. Her whole body was hypersensitive. It was as though the bottoms of her feet could feel the woodgrains on the floor. Her lungs could feel the oxygen molecules as they came and went. She walked out, stark naked, into the bathroom; washed her face, combed her hair with her fingers. And looked at herself in the mirror. A different woman than the one in the rear-view mirror; in the car parked down from the Ritz last night. And a different woman than the one in Carol’s vanity mirror. That could _not_ have been last night. So much had happened. This woman now had happy eyes. Well-rested and thoroughly cherished. Messy hair, smudged mascara. And early beginnings of love-marks in a few places she didn’t have last night. Places that would be hidden when Carol got dressed.

How was it that Carol was there? That Therese had forgiven her? Without words, admittedly. Had _apologized_ to Carol? Darling Therese. Fascinating. And ridiculous, if Carol could say that. She hardly deserved all that Therese offered her, last night or this morning. And they still hadn’t talked. Carol felt desperate for answers but also absolutely unbothered by anything at all, there in Therese’s apartment, having just been intimate. All so together.

Carol returned to the bedroom, found her – Therese’s slip – and put it back on before meandering to the kitchen. The apartment was chilly with spring-morning air, but Carol hardly cared.

Therese as concentrating over the stove with her percolator; a tin of coffee grounds was on the counter across the room. Therese turned, caught sight of Carol, and gave her the most incredulous stare. It was as if Therese had forgotten Carol was there. Or how Carol looked. She seemingly could not believe Carol was stood there in her kitchen. Therese’s face settled into that cheeky grin Carol adored since the first time she saw it at Frankenberg’s. Dimples and all, lighting the room more than the sun through the window.

They stood there, just looking at each other, until Therese’s utterly _ancient_ toaster popped on the counter. They both turned from each other’s eyes to the toaster, and then back to each other. 

“Go sit, it’s almost ready.” Therese said, turning back to the stove. She seemed to force herself to focus on her task of making breakfast. Carol took her time exiting the kitchen, looking at the photos taped to the wall, hanging from the line, drying. None of herself, Carol noted. But she was not surprised. How many photos had Therese taken since Carol last saw her? She wanted to see all of them; every single one.

Therese had taken a lot in their time together, too. With a sinking heart, she wondered if Therese still had them. If she even developed any. Carol could not blame Therese if she had gotten rid of them, could she? Or destroyed the film. Carol hoped Therese still had them. There was nothing more amazing than catching a glimpse of herself through Therese’s eyes. Not how Carol looked, god no. It was the opportunity to see how Therese saw her. Even if only static, black and white. It was the care Therese injected into each shot. A noiseless, senseless peek into Therese’s mind. Carol hadn’t much enjoyed getting her photograph taken until Therese, but now she’d be her muse if she asked.

It all reminded Carol of how she herself saw Therese. One does see the one they love differently than how the rest of the world looks at them, don’t they? Oh, Therese.

She went and sat on the edge of the couch in the living room, watching Therese. She was bustling around her little kitchen, buttering toast, sweetening coffee. And simply glowing. She had her new haircut all ruffled, a total mess. Her cheeks full with a flush. Face almost as pink as her slip, which clung to her skin like an attractive drape. Falling and hanging in all the right places. With a final flourish, she picked up a large plate of toast, carried it out, and put it down on the little dented table in front of Carol. Turning to grab two mugs of coffee, she came back, and parked herself directly next to Carol. Thighs and hips touching and all. Carol shivered for a fraction of a second and it was not because she was cold. 

“Sorry, it’s a little… burnt.” The toast was completely black in a couple places. Therese let out a heavy breath at herself, almost a laugh. A faint haze hung in the kitchen, Carol saw. Smoke from the bread. It all smelled dark like burnt toast, with faint undertones of coffee. Carol couldn’t help but smile. She did manage to hold back a real laugh, though. Therese was trying her hardest. Carol looked for a long second, at the smoke. It looked almost like tobacco smoke. That was the first time in however many hours that Carol craved a cigarette. She hadn’t had one since the Oak Room. She hadn’t thought of smoking once since the cab ride here. That had to be a record? Later. She’d have one later. 

“It’s quite alright.” Carol smiled into the side of Therese’s face, who almost seemed too embarrassed to look at Carol. And then she did, round eyes into Carol’s. A smile, like a reward.

Carol picked up a piece of toast while Therese did the same. They ate and sipped their coffee in silence. Looking around the room. Looking at each other. Little smiles. It was so pure and it make Carol’s mood soar. There was a mist over the scene, like a J.M.W. Turner painting. Totally perfect and panoramic but nothing fully taking shape. Carol had nothing in particular on her mind. It was still a little hazy, to be honest. Her ears rang ever so slightly. Her body tingled still, though. All from the bedroom, presumably, only minutes ago. And the reality of sitting there. Touching. Just happy. It had been the closest she felt to Therese, emotionally. The blue walls making it difficult to feel anything but positive. 

Was that why Therese chose that colour? Carol pushed the thought from her mind; before it could ruin the moment any more than it had the split-second it spent on her brain. 

There was one piece of toast left on the plate.

“You should eat that.” Therese stated. No, commanded. She tried to be polite, with her prettiest smile. Carol chuckled. But she knew why Therese had said it. The look on her face the night before when she saw Carol’s body gave it all away. Clearly worried. A slight tilt of her head, eyes wide; an unmistakable sight, even after all these months. She still seemed to find Carol beautiful, though. Therese didn’t say anything, not last night or this morning, but she didn’t need to. She still made love to Carol as though her body was an oasis, and Therese was nearly dead of thirst. Carol never understood what Therese saw. Carol’s body was not what it had used to be. Yet, Therese was always determined to _see_ her. In those intimate moments. Or in others, like when Therese held her camera. Sometimes Carol was self-conscious, especially with Therese there. Her Therese, who was simply perfection. Carol feigned as much confidence as ever, despite it all. Therese reassured her in many ways though; mostly the look in her eyes. 

Carol ate the toast as Therese watched. She had been hungrier than she had expected. Worked herself an appetite. Carol hadn’t eaten much of anything in months though, if she was honest. Sometimes she forgot to eat; most of the time she couldn’t find the will to cook herself something. Clearly, her diet showed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentioned:  
> J.M.W. Turner (1775-1851)


	6. The Pacific Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves! Thank you for your patience and understanding! Life has been crazy, but good.
> 
> Here's an update for our story. It gets a bit heavy, oops.
> 
> Hope you enjoy xoxo ~ Julep

April 18th, 1953

They sat there, in her living room. Eating toast, drinking coffee. Therese wondered if she should put on some music; Therese had gotten some new records she was sure Carol would enjoy. Jazz, piano. But she didn’t dare want to break their contact and get up.

It was all so intimate, in a strange way. It was just breakfast, Therese thought, and yet it was so perfect. And she made a point of making sure Carol ate enough. Ate more. Carol obeyed without so much as a side-eyed look or delightfully snarky remark, without any protest or something that was so typical of Carol. Of Carol before, before it all. Now that they were here, and neither of them was weeping or sleeping or sighing.

But Therese knew she needed to burst this bubble. She nearly felt obligated. They could not go on like this, as easy as it would be. Carol still seemed a mess, totally unsure. This was so unlike December. At that time, Therese wasn’t so sure she knew what was happening until it already happened. Therese was falling in love with Carol. Then she was _in_ love with Carol. And then, Carol with her. Therese knew she wanted Carol. But she didn’t know if that was what Carol wanted, too. But she did; she wanted Therese.

In hindsight, it all made sense. The tension that was between them; Therese had never had it with anyone before. And looking at Carol in hindsight, seeing it all. All the looks. Carol’s hand on the back of her neck when she spoke to Therese; now undeniably a sign of attraction. Her eyes all night, in Waterloo. Like this morning. She had replayed those sights in her brain for months, watching them like when she’d go keep Phil company at the pictures, usually with Dannie and Richard. Richard never came anymore, though. And Therese had been going less and less since she started working at the _Times_. She’d often just meet Dannie and Phil and whoever else for drinks whenever they all were free. Both the McElroy brothers had become close friends. Especially Dannie. And Dannie knew something about Carol.

Dannie knew Therese had gone away, and that was why she and Richard had broken up. But Dannie knew, _knew_ about Carol since he saw all the pictures while helping Therese paint the living room. He put all the pieces together. Why Therese was so miserable, and also why she refused to talk about it. He told Therese that in March, told her that he knew. Then they actually talked about it. They were both quite drunk, standing against a wall at another party hosted by a different mutual friend. By that time, Therese had _decided_ she had moved on from Carol. And Dannie understood it all immediately. Sweet Dannie. People were people, he said. He didn’t ask any questions, just let Therese talk. She mentioned Therese and Carol had been together, and then she left Therese. That’s all she had said really, no details. Therese felt terrified hearing her own voice say it out loud; not even the liquor in her body could help settle her unease as the words grated past her lips.

Phil surely knew something of it all too, likely from Richard. Richard was bitter, but he was certainly not Harge. Just sulking like a child, complaining a little too much. All because he hadn’t had his way. And that was why Genevieve was drawn to Therese, so it seemed. Phil knew her; had probably mentioned something, but nothing in particular. Talked about Therese, seeing as Genevieve knew who she was. Genevieve likely read between the lines; there was no other way to explain such a _dangerous_ brand of confidence, playing with something, playing into something bigger than Genevieve herself, than the two of them. She hardly seemed doubtful, and Therese was envious of Genevieve’s assurance. Therese also disliked it; no self-restraint or grace to it at all, it felt. But, they were the same type of gal, Therese and Genevieve. Surely. If one could _be_ like that. It seemed more like something one did, rather than was. People were people, after all.

Those memories of Carol played over and over. It was all a blur, then and now. Carol took many risks, especially towards the end; but Therese wanted to, as well. Therese did, often without realizing it. But also, at times, on purpose. She suggested taking the suite. Carol untied her rob in the mirror, on New Year’s. But Therese was naked under her own too.

Now, it was as though Carol was afraid to take the risks. Well, she probably was. Her ocean eyes were always swimming. She’d sometimes furrow her brow, as she did. In doubt, in pain, in impatience. Therese needed to lead this now. And she felt as though she could; she was not the girl of months ago, and there was not much doubt. Carol loved her, and Therese had all the cards in her hand, so to speak. Therese was hoping her poker-face was holding up. But she also knew that Carol could send it crumbling with as little as one word, one move.

Carol was done eating, and the two just sat there. Therese felt nervous. Shy again. The inevitable was creeping up behind them like a mouse. But soon, it would be a moose and they wouldn’t be able to ignore it. Therese craved a cigarette. She always did when she felt anxious or nervous or excited or distraught. She had often wanted a cigarette at Frankenberg’s. The first few times she spent time with Carol; sorting her photographs for her portfolio; sometimes at the _Times;_ in the bathroom at Phil’s. It always helped clear her head.

She’d smoke a cigarette; she imagined Carol was in dire need of one too, but was too polite or unsure to ask or just do it.

Breaking the precious contact between the two of them, Therese rose from her seat. She walked quickly from the living room to the entry-way closet and retrieved her cigarettes and matches from her coat pocket. They had remained there since last night, forgotten. Therese smoked a couple at the Oak Room with Carol and her friends, desperate for something to calm herself. She fetched an ashtray from the small table in the kitchen, and set them down on the coffee table in front of Carol. Next to the empty plate and mugs.

The air in the room sent a chill down Therese’s spine. Was it the spring chilliness or what was to come? Her feet felt cold. Therese quickly made a detour to the bedroom, rescued her quilt from its current position, half on the bottom of the bed, half on the floor. She returned to Carol in the living room, padding silently on her toes, and resumed her sitting position: as close as possible without being on Carol’s lap. She spread the blanket over their nearly bare legs, gently patting Carol’s knee with her hand when she was done. Carol just looked her with those thanking eyes. Watching her, looking up and down. A strange calm within them, but that something else too. That something Therese could never really figure out. Intoxicating. A fine line of mystery. Carol always knew something nobody else did.

“Cigarette?” Therese offered, leaning forward to prepare two. She put one between her own teeth, and placed the other in Carol’s fingers. She lit both of them, all that was between them was the indescribable sound of a match being struck. Her skin rejoiced as Carol’s fingers grazed her own as they shielded the little light aflame under Carol’s nose. The skin on Carol’s hands was soft and cool. Would that ever stop? Feeling as though her veins were blue flames under her skin, heating her when Carol brushed against her? It was incredible and torturous. The room filled with the smell of tobacco smoke and blown-out matches.

They sat in silence for what could’ve been a few minutes or a few weeks. The tension was not particularly pleasant. Therese’s nerves were bubbling; the sound of the air passing through the cigarette filters did nothing to calm her, nor did the nicotine hitting her bloodstream. Carol sat leaned back, angled away from Therese, as to look at her. Up and down, hungry, happy, anxious eyes. Her cigarette hung between her two first fingers. It was such a familiar and perfect pose. Therese wished her camera was not on her kitchen table, too many feet away to reach now. Therese took one deep inhale. Willing herself to do this.

“Carol…” Therese exhaled and snubbed out the tiny remainder of her cigarette. “I…” her voice sounded so small to herself. Carol leaned forward slightly, as to listen. Important. “I really am sorry.” In a continuation of their conversation last night, before it was sent spiralling down into chaos like Fat Man. Now, Carol gave her that sad smile, looking right into her eyes, and shook her head ever so slightly. The forced pull at her lips did not light her eyes, not like the other smiles this morning.

There was a darkness creeping into Therese. A panic, a sadness, a rage. That same sinking feeling of selfishness she had felt for months. Part of her so desperately wanted to move on with it all. To forgive and forget, as they say. Another part of her was still hurting. Still angry. Still screaming. Screaming, crying, gasping. When she was walking to Carol, before she saw her in the Oak Room. _Go back. Stop._ Her hands shaking as she tried to unlock her apartment door, Carol stood close by. _She’ll only leave you again. And you’ll go through it all again. All of it again._ The hair on the back of Therese’s neck stood on end like she’d been shocked. Her whole face became hot, burning, pink, pink. Carol could probably see it in her face. She became acutely aware of the contact that her legs shared with Carol’s; how stiflingly hot the blanket felt on their legs, trapping the air. Therese turned to Carol, trying to desperately to shake this feeling. It was too late, far too late to turn back. Carol was here, her smooth, youthful face, seemingly younger than her actual age. And Therese didn’t want to turn back, no no. Her instincts were at war. Broken trust and mending heart. Singing soul and resentful self-interest.

Therese had been so selfish, hadn’t she? Yes. But, also no.

Carol had left.

Therese loved her. And Carol loved Therese. Surely, that was enough, now. Couldn’t it be? Was it ever enough, for anyone, though? Not just them? The roots were too deep now, in her heart. They planted themselves there, far down, as they stood only a few paces from where they were sitting now. In each other’s arms, last night. Or were the roots always there? The thoughts swirled around and around and around and Therese could have nearly fainted. Tumbling, stumbling internally. She wanted to bury her face in Carol’s chest to stop herself from thinking out of this. _This This This._ This is what is important. Here with Carol. Therese remembered how she felt with Genevieve, with Dannie, with Richard. None of it like this. This, this. This morning. Breakfast. The smell of Carol. This morning. Remembering her tears, their tears. Them. Her daydreams of togetherness, and when they were real.

Carol bore her eyes to Therese’s. Once more, Carol looked blue, like last night. Blue. Carol had always been a light colour, warm, like red or orange or cream. Therese was the cool toned one; she was complimentary. That was how it all worked in Therese’s head. Carol looked blue now. Therese knew what she wanted. She did, didn’t she?

“Therese, it was not your fault.” Carol put her cigarette down in the ashtray, and took one of Therese’s hands in both of hers. Carol had broken their eye contact, and was now staring at their hands. Therese could feel the weight of the words on their minds like some divine force. Or like she was stood on the bottom of The Pacific Ocean, the weight of all its water was coming down on her from every angle. “I’ve thought of you every day, darling. I… I hadn’t thought it through,” Carol looked at Therese with a new look. Last night was exhaustion, but this morning was guilt. Her eyes were dark and loathing, a squint of her narrow eyes, brows pushing together. Her shoulders rounded terribly. Therese hated the sight. “My greatest regret was not telling you… to wait.” Therese forced her diaphragm to function; she was having trouble pulling any air into her chest.

“I left you. I…” Carol’s voice was low, a baritone melody. A slight shake of her head sending her unruly hair in a wave. She had spoken truth. Carol had left Therese. Walked out of her life with nothing but a letter, a note. Therese woke naked to nobody, but _Abby_. Therese had pleaded with Carol, with her voice over the phone, pleading to silence. When she was alone, pleading to God, to someone, anyone, for help. Hopeless, foolish girl, seduced. Strung along. Carol had left Therese. Therese had told herself those words countless times since January, until she believed it. And it was true though, whether the words passed through Carol’s lips or not. Carol had left Therese. Since the tapes, Therese was afraid it was over, all her fault. Their second night at the Drake, in the car, Therese had been afraid Carol would leave, and she did. Carol left Therese.

“Yes. You did.” Therese had found her voice. It was stronger than Therese had imagined it would be. She spoke slow, staring into Carol’s temple, her jaw, her nose, her cheekbone. Carol still looked into their hands. She blinked very hard with Therese’s words. The silence was thundering. A swallow in Carol’s throat. Therese watched her taunt neck, down and up. A slight, shuddering inhale. Therese just watched, her whole torso feeling like it was somewhere below where they sat; down in the street or the sewer. Therese needed to be honest, so that Carol could be too. That was how it would work, right? They’d take turns in life? Their life? Even when it hurt? This was adult of her, she knew.

“Yes. You left me.” Therese’s voice remained willful, powerful. How? She could not say. “I had nobody. Carol? I…” Therese stopped herself; the spite and outrage and turmoil was beginning to creep into her voice. She did not wish to belittle Carol, scold her. No, that was not the intention. Though, a part of her had wanted to, at one time.

“I know.” Carol whispered it; her eyes shut in what looked like torment. Guilt, shame. One deep intake of air, lungs shaking, quaking. “I know.” Voice full volume now, head wagging back and forth. Then she looked at Therese. Eyes blue, lips parted. Carol was so unlike Carol, but still Carol. She filled the room, even now. Therese felt tiny in Carol’s gaze, once more. She always _saw_ Therese.

Therese felt her head tilt. Involuntary. Glancing at Carol’s lips, chest, eyes. Therese gently squeezed her hand, which was in Carol’s.

“I’m here now. You’re here.” Therese felt herself smile lightly, weakly, painfully. Carol nodded, her lips turning up ever so slightly. Tight eyes softening. Words and sentences swirled around Therese’s mind as she tried to figure out which would be the best to put together. She was sorry, and still hurting. Wishing desperately to stop hurting. And be okay and love Carol. She did love Carol. She wished that healing would take place all at once, that they’d know all of each other, that they could simply put their heads together. Therese wanted to come to some agreement and forgive and plan, without the painstaking task of actually doing it.

“I love you, Carol.” A hopeful sounding statement. Carol let out a short breath. Longing breath, of relief too, perhaps. This was not like any film about two people Therese had seen with Phil. What would Dannie be writing were he in an audience of this?

Carol had wanted Therese to wait; regretful she hadn’t asked her to. And Therese would have, would have waited. If Carol had asked.

A romantic or an idealist might’ve said that in a way, Therese did wait, even if she didn’t know it. But no, Therese did not wait, not very long. She tried and tried and tried to get over it all. Willing herself to fall out of love with Carol, trying to remind herself of all that was wrong with _it_. Why it could not be. Carol had lived a life, been married, had a child, so much older than Therese. And she did not care for Therese like Therese cared for Carol. Therese was nothing but a plaything, a distraction while Carol’s life tore seam to seam. Something to entertain her while Carol drove away, ran away, from her crumbling reality. A severe case of unrequited love. Carol had seduced Therese and it was nothing more; she was something of a predator, Therese her prey. Even then, a woman. That was a whole other thing, wasn’t it? Two women. Therese was not particularly ashamed of that fact, but it _was_ two women. What a different life, a different love it would’ve had to have been. The world would never like it.

Therese had asked herself so many times: why, oh, why she went on loving Carol? Oh, how badly she wanted to stop; only it did not work. It did not happen, did it? Therese did not wait for her, certainly not. The only thing she was waiting for was her aching for Carol to wane, and hopefully, disappear. After about mid-way through February, there was no longer any hope that Carol would return, that her life would finally settle and she’d declare her love, truly. And after February, Therese vowed that she would not go back, even if Carol returned. She had pushed Carol from her mind, somewhat successfully, but when she reappeared it all came back. Her invitation, and seeing her at the Ritz. A death blow to the effort, sinking, at the Oak Room.

Not like a slow tide, but a racing tsunami; walls of water, of emotion, crashing down any flimsy structures Therese had built as a safeguard. It still was, still rushing in, there in the living room. Carol herself was the earthquake that caused it, perhaps. Somewhere miles off of shore, and Therese only felt the consequences. Blindly. She tried to swim and drowned. Therese was now all too happy that she wasn’t stubborn enough to survive.

Funny. Here they were, and just that had happened, all she had hoped would happen. Only it was slightly later than Therese had wanted months earlier.

But _all of that_ was just it, wasn’t it? Therese had not lived a life; she could never know what it was like to love her own child. What Carol must’ve been feeling. Hadn’t considered, no; what was Carol giving up for Therese? Therese had nobody, really, nothing. Being with Carol was not much of a sacrifice, was it? Carol had opened Therese’s eyes, given her a whole world. But, Therese meant something to Carol, too. And Therese knew it, could feel it. And she understood why Carol had set Therese free. Or had tried, at least.

Therese may have done something similar: If they could be apart, and move on and be happy? Well… It didn’t feel good, no. But, there was some sense in that, wasn’t there? After all that had happened? How it had ended? So hopeless and horrible? And how isolated they were as people? Two women, from different worlds. But Therese loved Carol and Carol loved Therese, and here they were. Surely, they could have one world. The last twelve hours proved as much, didn’t they? She was determined to trust Carol; she loved her already.

For weeks before, and then now, their lives tilted into one another. Someday they’d be one? They would be; they were. The most foolish part of it all, it seemed now, was the idea that they could be two. They were in Therese’s living room now, tragic and full of endless possibility. Therese removed her own blindfold of sorts in Phil’s bathroom. She had gotten a peek at the Ritz when Carol said she loved her, that grip on her shoulder sealing it in. Therese’s anger, heartbreak, her _naivety_ had made her unable to see around herself. Her ego, her own satisfaction and infatuation. And Therese was ashamed of that.

And what of Rindy? Living with Harge, ‘the right thing,’ Carol had said. Something had happened and now Carol was there; telling Therese she loved her. Asking Therese for all that Therese wanted to give her. Only, it was months too late.

And still, Therese went back. And she knew she needed to tell Carol all of that, of this. Carol deserved to know it. Why Therese had come back; just as Therese deserved to know all of why Carol had come back, too.

“I thought you had abandoned me. I was nothing to you. Carol…? Do you know? And I was so… _angry_ with you. After I was broken, I was… bitter. I tried to forget you.” Therese swallowed hard. Carol’s eyes were searching her own. “And I realized, last night, that, that it wasn’t like that. Not really…” Carol’s head began to tilt and her face was so, _so_ troubled. Old, broken. It was hardly past noon, but she looked tired again. Therese continued:

“I, I don’t know what happened. With Rindy, or… or anything. But I was naïve and just, oh _stupid,_ really, to think it was all your fault… And mine. And I hadn’t thought about it any other way until… last night.” Therese spoke slow and careful though failing to be as articulate as she wanted to be. “I’m sorry.”

Carol’s eyes were deep, thanking again. Mystery and milk and steel and sky, a sea. Her hands were firm and still, holding one of Therese’s. Her bottom lip tucked ever so sweetly and quickly. Like a hesitation, an affirmation, a hope, a held-back smile. No, not a smile, Therese decided. The silence around them thundering once more.

“I’m sorry, Therese.” Carol’s words were low but soft, as per usual, but not much louder than a whisper. It was quiet, like her voice when she spoke in intimate times, almost like in bed. But it was not heavy with peace like in those moments.

“I think I understand now. Why you left. Why you, … released me.” Therese forced a smile, though her own words tore through herself. Remembering the _letter_ , remembering the actions those words had implied, and the weeks and months after it all. Carol just nodded. Nodded. Therese damned herself to say more but the look on Carol’s face told her it wasn’t needed. A slight smile, eyes rounding themselves. Their words had been sparse all their time together. The mood between them, communication non-verbal. An observer may call it distant, but no, it was anything but. Therese hadn’t been able to read much of it all until she looked at in hindsight, until she knew Carol better.

Therese cleared her throat and began again. “When I was at that party, last night, I met a woman there. She was, interested, I would say.” Carol’s eyes tightened. “And I realized, it wasn’t you. Her and I, I… I didn’t want that. And I could’ve. Done something I mean, but, I didn’t,” Eyes relaxed. “And I knew that I still… loved you. And that you loved me. It wasn’t like that at Phil’s and I didn’t want it to be. I’m not sure… I’m not sure it would ever be like this with anyone else. I don’t think I want it with anyone else.” Therese’s words spilled out of her like pouring noodle soup; some words were liquid and others were clumpier. Carol swallowed hard and Therese’s heart was pounding in her temples. Thudding against her earlobes, of all places. Almost as if in protest.

“Therese…” Carol said her name with _that weight_. She shook her head, as if in disbelief. Her back was still rounded, like profanity. Her shoulders high and anxious.

“Talk to me. Carol… Tell me.” Therese moved to hold Carol’s hands now, shifting slightly to face her on the couch. The quilt over their legs remained. Carol nodded ever so slightly, and quickly dropped her gaze down to their hands. She took several seconds. Her arms relaxed and then she began to talk.

She spoke slowly and pained, telling Therese all. Fiddling her fingers with Therese’s, in Carol’s lap. Sometimes pausing to purse her lips, shake her head. Therese just looked at her, listening more intently as she could ever remember listening before.

Carol had flown back East and went straight to her lawyer. Then to Harge, bringing forward her agreement, all in order, just to keep Rindy. She stayed with Harge, often at his parent’s house. John and Jennifer Aird. Carol despised them, and they her; Therese remembered her saying that. She vowed never to contact Therese again. Began seeing a doctor. A psychotherapist, actually, Carol said, to help _cure_ her, her perversion. _Oh, Carol._ She had spent barely a week with Harge before she told him she couldn’t do it. Then she moved back to Carol and Harge’s old Ridgewood house without him, still being under surveillance. She even mentioned she thought perhaps the phones were being listened to, tapped, but she picked up even when she knew it was probably Therese calling. She said those calls were torture, but she simply could not stop herself.

Going to lunches, therapy sessions. Being ‘cured’ and hardly, barely seeing Rindy. Some strategy, probably. Harge was trying to starve her of something, everything. Emotion, willpower, self. Cruel. Forbidding her from seeing Abby. Carol said they were the lowest moments of her life. Deluded in total misery, crying whenever she felt moved to. Not eating – she said that with a hint of a knowing smile, as if the toast incident earlier in the morning had created something of a running joke.

Then she said she _could not_ take it anymore. And so, she didn’t.

She started seeing Abby, in secret, more or less. Then she told Harge he couldn’t do this to her, and her lawyer, Fred, agreed. She decided to move out, searched for a job and an apartment. She said she’d thought of Therese every day. Hoping she was happy, guilty at the possibility that she wasn’t. “I was – I _am_ – ashamed of all of that, Therese. I… Ugh.”

And Carol was determined to make something of herself.

On her way to her custody hearing, Carol saw Therese, in the street from her view in a cab. This Therese did not know, and could not have guessed. Though, nothing else Carol had said surprised her much, though she was disgusted; from what she knew, Harge was something of a terrible man, and the last several months only proved it further. But Carol saw Therese. “You looked so… Oh, Therese, so lovely. I wasn’t even sure it was you for a moment.” And she said it reminded her of it all, Carol’s own happiness, and how important it was. Carol said it had rocked her to her very core. And so she put her foot down with Harge. She became determined to pry herself from his control. He was using Rindy as some… “weapon,” she said. So, she’d given up custody for her own liberty.

She couldn’t be a proper mother to Rindy if Carol was miserable. Rindy deserved someone who could love her; love her properly. And Carol was living against her own grain. Harge knew that. Harge and Carol had loved each other at one time; surely, Carol said with shaking lips, all that was not lost to fury and jealousy. Carol knew it was possible when she saw Harge’s face as she left the room; that perhaps Harge knew he had gone too far. And a few days later, she swallowed her pride and gathered her hope, and delivered an invitation for tea to the _New York Times._ Delighted to find that a Miss Belivet did, in fact, work there.

She’d been living in her apartment on Madison for two weeks now, and she started at her job on Wednesday. She hadn’t heard from Harge since the meeting, which wasn’t a surprise. She said that so casually.

“And now…” An exhale. “I’m here.” Carol said it with a smile, lighting her eyes which were a little pinkish and wet. She looked at Therese now. And all Therese could do was look at Carol. In shock, in marvel, in joy and in pain. For her.

“Oh… Carol…” Therese gave her a smile, a pained one, she knew without being able to see it on her own face. She tried to put as much into it as she could; comfort and acknowledgement and support. Carol returned a similar one. And without moving their hands from Carol’s lap, Therese leaned her face in. Carol did the same; their eyes closed and their lips met in a sealing kiss. Tender and bare.

All the hurt, the burning pain and raging anger and distrust was pushed into that kiss.

And now… She was here, wasn’t she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentioned:  
> The Pacific Ocean  
> Fat Man: The second atomic bomb dropped on Japan by the USA, over Nagasaki, August 9th, 1945. (apologies if that reference is too dark/controversial)


End file.
